Instrumentals
by jennii.b
Summary: During the Clone Wars men bred to fight found themselves in need of humanity and created their own cultures, integrating that of their training sergeants and traditions learned on their trek accross the galaxy. In turn, the jedi discovered gaps in their own tenants, battled the futility of the changing world, and learned from those they'd been set to lead. (Prob K , T or M later)
1. 1: Instruments of Destruction

The troopers were aware of their jedi command team in their midst. Some felt a bit self-conscious. Some didn't care at all. Some resented the intrusion into what they considered _their_ time. An interruption of their respite from the hardships of their daily lives.

One of the robed figures paused longer than the others. As her leaders moved on she stayed, mesmerized.

The trooper creating the most haunting sounds played an instrument she'd never seen before. As she watched, his tanned, strong fingers flew over the keys and strings, evoking something like a throbbing lilt. A lilting throb. However the music expressed itself, she felt it in her-sensed it through the vibrations it caused in the air-every bit as much as she heard it as displaced air striking her eardrum. It was _inside_ her. Part of her. Part of all of them.

She was spellbound.

When he looked up and saw the rapt expression he smiled. She leaned into the sound, as though bracing herself against an opposing gale-force wind. Her eyes were vacant..._lost._ And the soft pink lips parted in an expression that was almost shock, almost awe. Almost a smile.

His music pleased her.

"Would you like to try it, general?" he asked softly.

He might have been standing inches from her rather than several yards away. His voice sounded harsh as the music ended and he gestured to her with both the instrument in question and raised eyebrows.

She started when she realized he was speaking to her.

"Oh. Um..." As the men closest to them watched a faint blush spread on her face and she chewed at the lips she pressed into a flat line. "No. I guess. It's a...lovely, I suppose...a _lovely_ thing. Such strong, confident music you make with it. And I've never seen one before. Never heard one. Like all the smiles and all the sighs and all the sweetness and harshness and passion and calm-it was like listening to a star. Magical. And yet entirely earthly. All at once. And I felt it everywhere I have living cells. It pains me to think that there are beings who have never been exposed to such a thing. I hadn't. I know that there is nothing like this in any of the temple's treasures. I am sorry for those who will die without having taken part in such an art."

He laughed. Looking straight into her eyes.

So many of his brethren shifted their gaze slightly. Military protocol or not, she hated the stare that focused just over her. She wasn't tall, nor was she short, so meeting her eye-to-eye shouldn't have been a hardship. Except someone had taught these men that the proper way to address a superior officer-be they jedi or bothan or mon cal-was to not meet their eyes.

Perhaps because so much could be read there; much could pass between two beings in such an exchange.

It did so now.

The trooper flicked his fingers toward her. "C'm," he said confidently. "It's not such a hardship to learn to play. I'm not long decanted and I've become a fair hand at it already."

Brindar felt the laugh well up. "_Please_," she intoned. "No false modesty with me. You and I both know that just because a thing is easy for you that it mayn't be that way for the rest of the galaxy. You are, in fact, superior in every way. It grates," she admitted with a grin. "I _hate_ being inferior. Or ignorant. Or challenged. I wasn't at the temple much. The newness of the feeling does _not_ a novelty make it."

She sank to her knees in front of him and he settled the box on her lap, leaning slightly to strum the strings. Here was the lilting tone-just the light, soothing notes of the strings. Here most artists and artisans would have been content to stop.

"Perhaps it's best for pride such as that to undergo a few setbacks," the trooper suggested as he pulled her hand to brace the instrument's flat side and back. He splayed his own, showing her the positioning of the fingers. As each fingertip settled into the slightly hollowed depression beneath the strings a low, easy throb reverberated the air.

"Master Yoda suggested the same thing. I think I've purposely been assigned missions that test my resolve since then."

"Never pray for patience," the man warned her. "You usually get the opportunity to see if you've gotten it yet."

"I've little," she admitted. "I've not the desire for more. Just for more freedom. If the jedi must fight a war-which we shouldn't, no offense intended-then we should make a stand of it and be done. Spreading innocent men in a thousand different conflicts offers no hope of resolution."  
"I'm pleased to meet you, General," he said softly as he gently placed her fingertips on the strings this time. She held them there, seeking the peace of the instrument's lighter side rather than the deeper tones he'd been invoking. "There's many among us who are starting to ask similar questions of whatever gods will listen."

"Have they answered you?" she asked suddenly, facing him.

The face-identical to all of those around her-was but centimeters away. She met his eyes, then let her gaze flicker to the small scar at the corner of his eyebrow. She reached out to touch it.

He jerked as though burned and she sharply withdrew her hand. His own fingertips replaced hers on the side of his head and his eyes narrowed as he frowned.

"I don't have the answers you seek, General. I'm a simple soldier and, believe it or not, I enjoy what I do. There's a rush in running headlong into the enemy and knowing that if you're still standing at the end of it you'll be the winner. It's as easy as that for me."

She arched an eyebrow and turned back to the instrument. She tested a few of the depressed pads, finding the range of each row of strings and buttons.

"Have you not lost anyone, then?" she asked as she concentrated. She felt him stiffen as he moved so that he could guide her hands. Felt his anger at her probing and his own frustration that he should feel so. And she felt _him_. He wasn't overly close, nor overly intimate. His knees parted so that he could kneel beside her, one very close to where she'd settled her rear on her heels, the other almost brushing her own.

She tested the force cautiously, then let her eyes close for a moment's self-evaluation. He didn't alarm her, although her pace raced frenetically. She felt..._safe_. She decided. And _that_ scared her more than any of the battles she'd been in, more than the degradation of her society, more than the role of her people in this conflict.

"General?" he asked sharply. He eased back, but at the same time reached out a hand toward her. "_General_?"

She'd gone still. Bone, dead still. Almost not breathing. Eyes unfocused. The muscles of her hand beneath his suddenly locked and unyielding.

_"Shab_," he swore under his breath. He clutched her hand and shook it. He wasn't sure if he'd frightened her by getting too close or if she was having some sort of fit or what. _"General!_"

Brindar shuddered and looked over at him, her eyes widened now in shock. Her mouth glanced at his face, then down at their hands, then formed a little "oh" sound that he couldn't hear over the pounding of his own head.

"_Kriffing sakes_, ma'am, don't do _that_ again."

Brindar pulled a face, then smiled. "I'm sorry. I got kind of...lost in thought, I suppose." She watched him draw a shaking hand over his face and let out a long breath. "And my name is Rar. Well, Brindar, actually, but Rar."

He held out the hand and she shook it as offered. "One. As in number one. Seriously. I'm c-t-zero-zero-zero-one. And I've made damn sure that I'm the best one."

"Hmmm."

He snorted at her dubious response. "Brindar's pretty. It's a nice name. Does it mean anything in your language?"

The jedi shook her head. "It doesn't, no. But it's close to several things in yours. One of the first cuy'val dar I met was Mandalorian. He wouldn't tell me what it meant and I can't find a translation module that will catch 'close to' as a search criteria. I don't know where Rar came out of Brindar. I just know that everyone uses it. Even Master Yoda."

"No surname, no middle name or family name, no clan name?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"In Mando tradition dar means no longer. Or never, depending on its use. Batiir is a form of concern...to worry or fuss over someone, to care for them or about them."

"So my name has negative connotations."

She watched his fingertips as he gently urged hers over strings and concussion depressions. He shook his head. "Not so much, ma'am. More...profound, I guess would be the word. It's a serious thing, a Mando's word. It's all he has-his honor and his integrity. To make a vow or to disavow is earth-shattering. And to open your heart, to make yourself vulnerable because of affection for another human being." He was quiet for a long moment. "I can't think of two more balanced parts of the Mandalorian culture. Extreme sentiment, extreme practicality. To love with everything, to hate strongly enough to stake your word on it. It makes for an intriguing puzzle to happen across a being named for those two traits."

"And only those traits," Rar muttered. Beings all over the universe had multiple names. Their identities were passed down with monikers from generations past-added to and expanded and mutated. To have only the one name...to be known only by a few letters rather than have a family name that told a story...this was unusual in most of the communities she'd studied in her life.

"You got it, general."


	2. 2: Instrumental Life Saving Techniques

One burst through the door of the command bunker, weapon drawn and charged.

"In the cabinet, _now!"_

"What?"

"NOW!" he growled, pushing her down toward her knees. He glanced over his shoulder and the jedi recognized what she felt rolling off of him in waves. _Terror_. She clutched her lightsaber and prepared to meet whatever was coming through that door.

"They're coming for _you_," he grunted through clenched teeth, shoving back a cabinet door and jerking at her shoulder. "It's 6-6. _Move."_

Brindar moved. She felt numb and strangely unfocused. She had no idea _who_ was coming or _why_. _You_, she thought. _They're coming for you_. She didn't understand the situation and that-coupled with the fear and desperation she felt rolling off the commando-nudged her toward panic.

"You stay there, do you hear me?" he asked, bent double so that he could judge her state with his own eyes. "You can tell if it's me or not?" When she nodded he continued. "Just me. Got it? The rest are the enemy now. Don't come out, no matter what anyone else says, even if they say I'm dead. I'll come back for you and we'll get you out of here. Can you understand that?"

Brindar nodded again. She didn't know what a 6-6 was. She'd picked up a lot of the lingo but it was something unfamiliar to her. _The others are the enemy now?_ It didn't make sense. What others?

One started banging open doors and cabinets and lockers. He swore loudly and ferociously. When the door was wrenched open he swung toward it with his weapon ready.

"_Udessi, ner vod_," came a muffled voice.

Brindar heard another cabinet slam, this one nearly across the room. _What is he looking for?_

"_Kriff_," One grunted. "This one's clear. You two, take the left. We'll go right. Anything moves, anything rustles, you shoot first. Call it room by room."

Brindar felt a tremor start in her arms and legs. Her stomach knotted. _What the hell?_ The men moved off. At first she could hear muffled thumps and bangs. A discharge that she knew from experience tasted like ozone. The repeated calls of well-trained men clearing rooms one by one. Then the voices and sounds faded. And that was worse. But, above that, the cries in the force. The tearing and rending that ripped through her soul. She knew that sensation. She'd felt it on worlds where there were massive disasters. She'd felt the cry of strangers in this continuing conflict. But these voices were familiar to her. These souls she recognized.

_They're coming for you_.

What had happened? Why were Republic troopers hunting down and exterminating jedi?

It was a long wait in the dark and the quiet. And it was more terrifying than she liked to admit when the boots came closer again.

_They're coming for you_.

Brindar tried to relax and meditate while she waited for what fate would bring next. She took deep breaths and tried to honor the loss she'd felt in the force. Just as she systematically shifted and redistributed the weight of her body in the cramped quarters. If she needed to move she'd need to move fast. The stiffness from her hunched position would betray her if she didn't make preparations.

Twice she heard men approaching and heard them leave. She lost track of the minutes and hours as she wondered that those around her didn't pick up her fear and misery. Sentients with no known force connection should have been able to sense the betrayal she felt and the confusion and the fear. Her fingers clenched the reassuringly solid cylinder of her lightsaber, muscles cold and tense contrasting with the clammy palms.

"Okay, general, let's go," she heard finally. She held her position as she reached out in the force. The voice had taken her by surprise and that in itself was a surprise to her. She felt numb-even her cheeks tingled with a disassociated feeling.

"General?" One asked a bit more gently. He crouched to slide open the cabinet in which he'd forced her earlier. Brindar realized that it was him in the same instant that she realized he feared for her.

"I'm here," she managed to choke out of a mouth dry and bitter from the adrenaline.

One felt relief flood him. His head pounded and his own hands were far from steady as he reached out to help her from the cramped hiding place.

"What's going on?" she asked him, looking up at him with those big eyes as he rose before her.

"Palpatine issued Contingency Order 66. Apparently Windu and some other big wigs decided to stage a coup. All jedi are marked as traitors to the Republic and are to be executed on the spot."

"I felt it," she said softly. "I felt them die."

One nodded, blowing out his cheeks. His eyes were hard and unfathomable. The hollows beneath them marred his fine bronzed skin like bruises. "I imagine you did, general. I don't envy you that. I've been there often enough myself."

He reached out to take her hand and led her to the door. Her blade was still clutched in the hand of her sword arm.

"We wouldn't have attempted a coup," she told him in what appeared to be a completely reasonable tone of voice. Only the violent shivering betrayed her panic level. "Jedi seek not to rule. Something is terribly wrong."

"Yeah. There's a bounty on your head and the rest of your team is on its way to Palps. I hunted jedi today with men I never would have thought capable of turning on a comrade. Something's wrong, all right. I hate this kriffing place. I hate your kriffing Republic and everything in it."

"I'm sorry." Brindar reached out to run a hand over the plate covering his upper arm. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You didn't try to overthrow an elected official. You didn't start a damn war or write contingency plans or brainwash a clan of men who would follow orders without question. And that's the _only_ reason you're still alive."

Rar felt his hatred and anger like a fist to the gut and physically stepped back from it.

"Come _on_, general," he hissed. "I don't have time for this. We've got to get out of here and it's got to be now. There's a transport being loaded. It won't wait for you."

"Did you find them?" she asked. He hated the timid tone of her voice. Like there was a holorecorder in his head he could play back things she'd said from months and months ago. He'd never heard her sound like this-not even when her own frustrations led her to question the wisdom of their continued presence in escalating conflicts.

"We found them, general," he shot back matter of factly. "We're very good at what we do. Your people paid good money to make sure of it. So of course we found them."

His pain radiated out of him. He had played a part in the extermination of a species of beings marked by their ability to harness and focus the mysterious life force of their world.

"Hussik and Ryle?"

"They're dead. Leave it, Brindar." He turned, jerking her up by the shoulders. His shake left her closer to tears than before. "I told you once that what we do is satisfying to me. I'm a soldier. A warrior. And when it's down to the nitty gritty that's what's been hard-wired into me. I can't change that."

"Why me?"

He dropped her and turned around, leading her deeper into the undergrowth surrounding the bivouac. "Because you're not them. Because you handle yourself differently and you _think_. More than they did. They took the orders given them and just plodded along, just like any of us do. No questions, no soul-searching. None of the stupid meditation crap you're always sinking into. If they've had a moment's disquiet about this whole damn war I'll eat my decee. It's all black and white to them. No consideration of collateral damage, no assessment of recompense for those beings losing their homes and businesses. Their way of life. We stomp it out and keep on marching because we're the GAR and they're the Seps. Fuck that. Those gapine vines grew here for centuries. Those milliners raised hut-uns for longer than that. The whole mountainside's on fire now. Every damn furball was killed and left to lie. Not for meat. Not for leather. And sure as hell not because they were a threat to us. Just to _hurt_. Because we _could_. You're dead now. You and General Hussik and Commander Ryle and everyone like you. Affirmations are coming in right and left. I reported you as down when we took Ryle at the river crossing. Those falls lead right to the nesting grounds. If they ever find his body it'll be a miracle. They'll never find yours."

One could hear the ragged breaths she tried to control as he led her through the worst terrain the country had to offer. His long legs and lifetime's training ate up the ground and all she could do was follow.

"Put this on, and put the rest of your kit in this seal-case. Make the combination something easy for you to remember, hard for anyone else to guess."

He'd stopped and pulled a set of the white plasteel armor from beneath a terrain-simulating shimmerweave tarp. Shoving it at her he threw open a lock box and pried the lightsaber from her hand.

When Brindar hesitated he took her face in his palms and tilted her chin up until her eyes met his. "We've got one chance at this and it hinges on you following orders. You put that on so that I can go over the HUD with you. Then you pick up the other side of that box like it weighs a kriffing ton and you follow me onto that barge. There's a crate there. I've been running active and ending ops for the last two hours. We can head to Grabberth Maen. There's enough of a Republic presence left there that a crate addressed to HQ won't be anything out of the ordinary. But all that's left is admin. No military presence whatsoever. We can hide there until I figure out where the hell we can go to get away from this for real. But you have to take this first step and you have to take it _now._"

"You're coming with me?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'm coming with you. I figure to find a face-shifter and change my mug up a bit, then I'll hire out as a merc. I'm good at this, general. I like it. I just don't like who I'm working for anymore. So I'm making my choice-just like you've made yours a thousand times."

She nodded and began to shed layers, dropping her cloak, tool belt, arm band, and tunic into the box he'd offered.

"Trash it," she said as she turned away from him to strip down to base garments. The underweave for the white plasteel plates felt confining and restrictive as she tugged it up her bare legs. One had turned as well, to give her privacy, and now ducked his head toward her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Trash it. I don't want it. If I'm running I'm leaving it behind. Where can we get rid of it?"

One considered. He'd probably make the same choice. "I think we hold on to a few pieces just for a little while longer. They might come in handy. If for no other reason than the fact that you may want some of the personal items and I want a chance to go through your gear. I've got a helmet recalibrated for you. Nothing but the basics. Just follow me. I'll lead, I'll talk, I'll think. You'll be fine, okay?"

She nodded and did as he asked. When he offered her the locking mechanism she chose the thing that had ended her lifestyle. Instead of choosing a code of significance to her old self she entered simply 6-6 and then spun the dial. Licking her lips she nodded up at One. She shivered her last tremor of fear as he lowered the bucket-like helmet over her head, encasing her in his world.

It was like madness. Her eyes streamed over data and figures and maps and POV images.

"You're locked in to the squad frequency, but I have your vocal linked straight to mine. I can't hear you; they can't hear you. It's been disabled. That way we can explain any breach of conduct. A curt nod is appropriate. You should be able to manage that without falling on your face."

She lifted a finger in a gesture that wasn't an appropriate obescience.


	3. 3: Collapse of the Institution

They were already on Grabberth Maen two days before they realized why the military had left the place behind. It was imploding.

One had traded his armor for the dark red fatigues of the clone army. He'd outfitted her in a set of officer's deck blues. Thus they could move about the city with very little notice, him carrying the locked durasteel box and walking half a pace behind and to the right of her.

"The good little clone boy doing his master's bidding," he snarled as he watched a man check Brindar out, then turn to enjoy the rear view.

"This is your idea," she reminded him as she paused to wait for the flow of traffic to change.

"Just keep an eye out for a retailer," he reminded her.

She had creds. She had untraceable creds. One, it seemed, was good at chance games. He'd taken the creds she'd had from jedi the once they'd boarded and quickly traded it into ready chips. Piles of them. She only wished she'd been able to watch him. His eyes lit up when he brought them back to their hiding place aboard the commerce barge. In the long hours they hid in the crate he was teaching her to play as well. She'd learned the hard way that their equipment was optimized, their systems optimized, even their emergency rations were designed to allow them to hide in place for long periods of time. She'd been grateful when he'd found a deserted area of the warehouse to which they'd been delivered and she'd been able to get out of the 'clone suit' and breath unfiltered air. Not to mention giving up the dubious pleasure of 'reclaimed' water.

One watched her look around. Her hair was pulled back severely. He found it appealing as it revealed the beautiful lines of her face. He decided he was going to try to draw her that way-with the cheekbones and elegant brow and elongated neck shown to perfection. Her look was one of innocence and competence. No one doubted that she was an officer with a plan as she strode purposefully out of the government building, him trailing like a damned nek. Brindar's attention seemed caught and he followed her gaze to the display window of a clothing store.

"Like it?" he asked, leaning closer.

She nodded absently. "I love the simplicity that lets a people wear the same garments year-round. They come in every color, every fabric. And I've seen women wearing them with leather pants, with boots, with simple sandals, and with heavy work pants. They're completely functional. And yet beautiful, too."

"Easy on the eyes. No secrets about a woman's shape when the only thing between you and them is a gathered band of fabric."

"But there is mystery there," she countered. "Yes, it binds tightly around the entire rib cage. But no flesh is revealed that isn't shown on a hundred other worlds in a hundred other ways. And the flare is what fascinates me. It billows out and drapes beautifully. So practical, with the stretch allowing a custom fit, and yet so poetic."

One smiled at her. "Go buy one. Whatever appeals. Buy several. Let's get out of the army." Brindar frowned at him. "Seriously," he urged. "Have you never bought anything from a store before?"

She shook her head and he rolled his eyes.

"Come on. I'll follow. I'm going to look uncomfortable and impatient and you ignore me. Pick out several-in several sizes until you find what suits-and try them on. Use the bigger cred chip when you pay so you don't have to worry about denominations. Get a couple of outfits. Shoes or boots if they have them."

Brindar let herself play in the soft fabrics. She chose two of the ruched bandeaux tops she'd admired, plus a long-sleeved topper of the softest grey imaginable. The design was such that the sweater was to be knotted in the front right below the breasts. The tails fluttered down nearly to Rar's knees. She found a set of breeches in a golden brown like to chamois and another in a crisp slate blue. She bought a pair of boots in a butter soft hide and a flatter, slipper-like shoe in dark, dark silver.

"Get a bangle," One murmured when she fingered a bracelet near the register. He winked, then rolled his eyes. "We're to be on a delivery and you're buying one of everything else, get a bangle, too."

Rar arched a brow, enjoying herself for a moment, and turned her back to him. "I'll wait, I think. There are other boutiques closer to the river. I can always come back on the return trip."

On the sidewalk again One ducked his head to indicate a cafe. "I'm going to the depot to look like I'm waiting on a transport. Find somewhere to change and stuff the uniform beneath the remaining gear. Loosen your hair and wash off your makeup. I need clothes, too, so you'll have to find a men's store. I'm trusting you, Brindar."

She smiled up at him. "I'll find you something manly. Don't worry."

"Don't buy everything in one place. Pick up odds and ends here and there. It's okay if it takes a while. I'll watch for you. When I approach let me lead the way to the hotel. You go in the front and get a room. I'll come in from the back. I'll need you to be in the hallway so I know where to go."

Brindar nodded. "Be careful, okay?"

"You got it, ma'am. I'll see you in a bit."

She enjoyed shopping. It was a surprise to her. She relaxed incrementally as she entered one store after another. She bought another tunic for herself and more goods for him than he really needed. Two heavy tunics, one a bronze color, one a deep burgundy. A forest green under tunic with hook-and-eye closures all the way down the front. A pair of the black many-pocketed trousers she saw on several men. A pair in dark, dark brown. She found him casual shoes for running and a heavier boot with some heft to the soles. Socks. She bought him several pairs in different designs and weights. He'd probably never been able to decide what kind of socks he liked before. She ducked into a store whose window held a display of men's wallets and belts and came out with a tough-looking case worn strapped across the back as well as a belt of some rough-scaled dark flesh. In the next store she found scents and shampoos and soaps. She bought two choices for him, a floral for herself, and wondered that she'd never owned a bottle of perfume before. She'd adeptly side-stepped the clerk who wanted to interest her in glamors and hair ornaments.

At the transport depot she watched him glance at his chrono and gaze expectantly at the door. She stood there for fifteen minutes before he slammed his fist into the flimsi cup on the table and swung the case onto his hip. He stalked right past her as if he didn't see her, his face a stormcloud.

And she nearly bobbled her bags when the hotel he chose was the one right next door.

The cred chip had significantly less balance when she'd taken a double room for the week, assuring the manager that she would retrieve her own bags once she'd unloaded her new purchases.

She'd dropped the bags inside the door, stepped back out to fiddle with the lock, turned around to admire the artwork, loitered by the elevator, and gone back to stand before the ugly wall mural before she heard footsteps approach.

"Are we to be sleeping inside that thing?" One asked sarcastically.

Rar turned and clicked open the portal to their rooms. "Relax. I thought I'd look suspicious if I was just standing there staring at the door."

"Pretend you can't get the button to work," he suggested as he dropped the case onto the floor and fell backward onto the first bed.

His sigh spoke volumes to his tension level.

"I've never deserted before," he said out of the blue. "I expected it to feel worse. I expected to miss my brothers. To feel lost. I'm stressed, because of you mainly, but I'm okay."

"Thanks for the update," she said sharply. She jerked at the first bag and started to separate his things from hers. He glanced over, nodding at what he could see.

"The bag was a great idea. We'll get another one, too. Give me some time to regroup here and we can talk about the next step."

Brindar frowned at him as he closed his eyes. She knew he must be hungry by now. He was always hungry.

"I'm going to go back out. I'll get us something to eat and get another bag."

"I'm okay, Brindar. I just need a minute. Sensory overload. I've spent too long listening and watching as hard as I can and I-"

"It's fine," she said more gently. She sank onto the mattress beside him, perched primly with her hands in her lap. "I understand. I can go get something to meet one of your needs while you nap and then get cleaned up. Then we'll see about that next step."

He nodded. He listened to her straighten up a bit more, then heard her gather key and cred chips.

"I don't like the idea of you changing your face," she told him as she slipped her shoes back on.

"I can't look like this and live in the Republic. The Empire. Whatever."

"So go farther. You're a hell of an actor."

"And you look gorgeous. I wish we could stay here. It suits you."

Brindar considered that. She smiled over at his still form as she shut the door quietly without responding. These people did suit her.


	4. 4: Next Steps

Brindar wondered at the ease with which One slipped into a life of hiding. He'd found them a fairly crowded planet, been able to disguise her in a liberated officer's uniform and followed respectfully a pace and a half behind carrying the durasteel box. She allowed herself a half smile at that thought. One had never—even as a highly trained operative and obedient soldier—been meek and subservient. He'd sent her into a boutique to purchase clothing for herself, then, once she'd changed, sent her into several more to buy other things they'd need before meeting him again at the transport depot.

He loved the feel of the green tunic she'd bought him. It was probably the softest thing he'd ever felt against his skin. Of their own accord his hands trailed down his torso as he grew used to the new sensation wrought by the texture and weight.

And he loved the way she looked in the styles the women of this planet wore. The mainstay of their wardrobes was a simple sleeveless tunic-like garment practical in that it was gathered to be form-fitting along the ribcage, then billowed out in varying lengths according to the wearer's preference. They'd seen them worn with bare legs and with every type of pant and trouser imaginable. Shoes ridiculous and practical, long, serpentine jewelry, and an endless variety of toppers in different knits and leathers made the city's women a more appealling demographic than One had encountered elsewhere.

One of the purchases he'd made during his own foray was coloring. He used the same dye on both his hair and hers. The bright auburn of hers muted to a warm brown. His took some of the color but remained dark. Then came the next step in leaving the GAR. With shaking hands he didn't want to think about he administered the permanent iris pigmentation drops and the bleaching kit he'd bought for his dark olive complexion.

Brindar was repacking their purchases into the two sling packs they'd bought when he came out. The larger was from a second-hand store and would hold most of their goods. The second was smaller, brand new, and leather of the flesh of some animal with tiny bright green scales. It was shapely and he judged that the slightly built woman would be able to carry it for long distances without ever feeling its weight.

"You chose well for us," he announced upon reentering the room.

Rar looked up at the man. Her gasp and wondering smile made him feel just a bit uncomfortable until she spoke.

"For the love-One, I didn't think you could get any handsomer." She left her chore and he stood there wearing a self-pitying expression as she circled him, taking in the fit of the pants and the shirt, the newly pale skin and the dark brown hair, and then studying the face from which he watched her with blue eyes. She swallowed hard before nodding. "If blending in was your plan, forget it. Women are going to drop dead of desire when they see you." His ready grin flashed quick and disbelieving. He couldn't believe it when she punched him in the arm. "And for damn sure don't smile."

"What are we going to do with you?" he asked, running a hand over her newly shorn locks. Her hair had been thick and luxurious and long, brushing nearly to her waist when she let it down. He'd trimmed in and now it fell just past her shoulders. She'd styled out the riot of curls so that it hung straight as rain. "How do you feel?"

Rar shrugged and sank to the edge of the meager bed. She didn't like to think about what might be growing in that mattress. "I feel sick. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel...what I'm supposed to _do_."

One inhaled deeply and sank down to sit beside her. They'd shared several meals now with her picking at her food before passing it to the always-hungry clone. One restaurant they'd found in this city boasted an ever-replenishing bowl of stew. He'd had several before Brindar suggested that more might look suspicious. It was the closest he'd ever been to feeling _full_.

"Maybe this will be safe," he suggested. "The military presence is in the process of leaving. They're abandoning government quarters. There won't be anyone around who would recognize me."

Brindar studied his disguised features and shook her head. "I think that even your brother clones would have a hard time placing you. They'd see you and think they'd seen you before, but you look almost completely and totally foreign."

He smiled at her. It was predatory.

Rar shivered and told herself it was nerves. "Did it feel strange to look in the mirror?"

He shrugged, then laughed at himself. "My hands were trembling as I put in the eye drops. I guess since the skin bleach will fade-or tan-and the hair will grow out that I didn't worry about them. But if something screwed up my vision? That's big time."

He felt quivers again-this time low in his belly-when she reached out to smooth a hand over the long row of tiny hook-and-eye closures that held together the sides of his shirt. This country seemed to love them-larger versions for slacks and trousers, tiny ones on every shirt and blouse and tunic. What didn't close with the metal fasteners seemed just to loop into a knot like many of the cloaks and sweaters he'd seen on the street. For a man whose daily life included buttons, zippers, seals, snaps, velcro, and laces it was a minor miracle that such simplicity in style and form existed.

"Let's go somewhere nice for dinner," he told her, running his palms down her arms to shake her wrists. He'd seen the shutters close inside her eyes again and feared the melancholy she'd battled since the night they'd left. She'd withstood a great deal of change and uncertainty but the grief for her old way of life-not to mention most of her kin and kith-left her damaged in heart and soul. "Somewhere where the food is served family style so I can eat most of yours without causing problems."

Rar clasped his fingertips and rocked her head back and forth. "New concept. Let's go find a green market. We'll get things that store easily and a family style take-home dinner. No one will know it's for just us and you can try several new things-and have all you want to eat."

One wished his stomach didn't moan for the chance to indulge in complete satisfaction. He wanted her to see that he could be civilized, too. They'd made do on nutricubes and ration packs so long that she'd only known him to be looking forward to the next meal.

The grocery store was a riot of sensation for him. He'd gotten his chow from a serving line or foil packs. Had lived on stimshots and nutricubes many a time. There'd been the occasional orchard raid if his unit was stationed somewhere earthy. But this much fresh was mind-boggling to him. What boggled his companion was the price of the goods. Everything seemed costly far out of proportion to any other world she'd visited.

"When we get back I want to look up the price index for food here," she murmured to him.

He sniffed appreciatively at the ready-made counter where meals and sides and desserts for those who didn't care to cook beckoned beguilingly. "Whatever the numbers come out to, it's worth it."


	5. 5: Just Collapse

His mouth watered at the aromas that drifted out of the bags they'd filled as they walked back to the hotel. While she munched delicately he devoured smoked meat, some game bird in rich gravy, a reptilian quadruped in spicy sauce, vegetables that had been steamed, mashed, fried, and grilled, plus grains served both warm and cold with the addition of flavored oils and herbs. He leaned back from where their feast was spread picnic-style on the floor of the tiny hotel room and laid hands on his nearly distended stomach.

"I'm full," he said happily.

Brindar laughed and, without thinking about it, leaned over her own plate to peck a quick kiss to his lips.

It was the first he'd ever received.

It was damn near the only affection he'd ever been shown outside his own squad where rough hugs, shoulder slaps, and knuckle bumps were the norm.

She was already turning away, though, easy with the exchange of physical approval and contentment. She frowned as she brought up studies of the local economy.

"There was no bread..." she muttered as she clicked and saved and opened and closed. He glanced over in mild interest as she sat up straighter and ran a hand through her hair. He liked it. He liked it better red, but he loved the length-the swing of it and the pretty cascade as she swept it back. "No pasta...just grains. No custards...no cakes...no foams. _Damn it_."

"What?"

"_No eggs._"

"I don't get it."

"What kind of economy has a grocery store with no eggs, no products made with eggs. Nothing was battered, the bakery section was non-existent."

"So they don't bake. So what?"

"So there are no eggs. There were none on the shelf for sale, even though there were some poultry products."

He shook his head. "No, there weren't. Not commercial poultry, anyway. What we had was game. And it was four times as expensive as anything else."

She wasn't listening. "Hunh."

The former clone trooper felt too good at present to worry overmuch. Limited though his life experiences were, part of their indoctrination had included sensitivity training. Some lifeforms—and subgroups within them—had strange limitations. Some cultures eschewed certain foods and practices out of respect for their gods. Some banned items for personal use out of protection of those species and natural resources. Some had forbidden contacts-animal, mineral, or vegetable—because they were deemed "unclean" by some long-forgotten ruling faction. Mongrels were weird, plain and simple.

"One!"

"What?" he jerked upright at her exclamation.

"You chose a dying planet!" she told him without preamble. "The reason everything's so calm and orderly is that there's a mass evacuation in the works. They've terraformed a new colony and are sending people over to settle. The core is unsteady. They estimate another month or so at most."

One slid over to her and studied the image she'd pulled up on the 'pad. "_Shab_."

The headlines of a local news company screamed about the outrage of pollutants poisoning the common waterway. Fish and amphibians were washing up dead with creatures drinking unfiltered water showing neurological side effects. A local mining company was being held responsible for the undrinkable water and loss of livelihoods.

"There wasn't any fish on any menu I've seen, either," One noted.

"_Great_."

Another article showed lines of people outside a whole foods store with fistfuls of money. Photographs of empty shelves and empty bakery blocks accompanied a piece about lack of supply and chemical imbalances causing birds to lay eggs with shells so thin they dissolved upon hitting the air. Restaurants and grocers were unable to restock and people with special dietary needs were being issued physician-approved cheques for commodities that were now to be controlled by government representatives.

"This is from last year." Rar checked the date on the articles, then began a search on the mining pollution and resulting shortages.

"Hmmm." One's hum of disapproval was his only comment as they both read the article that had popped as containing the most recent matches to her query.

"Well. That explains a lot, doesn't it?" she asked when she finished.

"Okay. I'll do some digging tomorrow."

The pollution had been caused by a collapse in a mining tunnel that released toxic fumes into the lakes that linked throughout the continent. The gases released were lighter than the oxygen-rich air found close to the earth's surface, so the first creatures affected by the tragedy were the animals in and around the water supply and those whose lifestyles led them through the clouds. Only now heavy rains and atmospheric changes were lowering the cloud cover. With spring's arrival and the thermal changes in the air the situation had become hazardous to the very young and very old and those with compromised respiratory systems. Summer's temps were expected to raise the level of danger to include every lifeform on the planet. The reporter's expose also included a note that seismologists had found cause for worry in the ongoing collapse of mining tunnels in the southern continent.

"So I landed you on a planet that's imploding. I'd buy you a Muja cake to make up for it, but there are no eggs for baking."

Rar rolled her eyes and shook her head. Thoughtfully she chewed at her upper lip. "That explains why things like leather and fur are so inexpensive and food is so costly. Water has to be filtered to be used for growing or drinking. And the animals that are found dead can be repurposed."

"I was thinking more along the lines of _that's why it was so damn hard to find a hotel room_ and _no wonder transports are scarce._"

"Okay. That's good, too."

He watched her little bow mouth set into a straight line. Without thinking about the intimacy of it he gently ran his thumb over her bottom lip. " We've gotten this far. We'll find somewhere else."

Brindar bit her lip. "I liked it here."

"Where are they going?"

She shrugged. "There was a special about the company doing the terraforming. They chose an outer rim planet that was uninhabited and used the gravitational pull of the nearest satellite to anchor it to a star. Then they adjusted the climate so that it was a match. There have been firms building cities and starting agriculture districts out there ever since. This has been a year in the making and they've done it at record speed. These engineers are up for a major award."

"If they can harness creation they deserve it."

"Whatever," Rar shot back. Tampering with nature was not in her nature.

"We might like it there," One told her.

She nodded, meeting his eyes. "I liked it _here_. I liked being a jedi. Maybe _I'_m the curse."

One shook his head and stood up to stretch. "Maybe life's not as neat and tidy as they teach you at the temple. Maybe it's about rolling with the punches. Let me talk to the manager of the hotel. If there are flights out of here he'll be able to hook me up. If not we jump back on the military shuttle. It's fine, Brindar. I've got you."

"I want to send the military uniforms and my old things into the incinerator before we leave, One," she told him.

He studied her face and finally nodded.

"If I can't get out without the Republic I stay."

"It won't come to that. I promise."

Rar's eyes held no fear. No trepidation. "I like myself now. I like being a free person. I'd like to get used to it so that I can take it for granted. I don't want to go back out that way."

"All right, cyar'ika," One murmured. "We go as free people. No more hiding. I'll get us out of here," he promised again.

She nodded. "I know. I can appreciate that. I just need to worry a little bit first."

His expression was grim as she rose gracefully and locked herself into the tiny 'fresher. She turned on the faucet and stared at the clear water running down the pipes. Either she was wasting precious filtered water or it was unfiltered and she'd made them both sick already. It made her head spin and her stomach ache.

One quietly cleaned up the remains of their meal and slipped out of the room. If anyone should know of a way out of this mess it should be the night manager.


	6. 6: Making Breaks

He knocked gently before reentering the room two hours later.

Rar sat cross-legged on the bed, hands flat on her knees.

"Are you meditating?"

"I'm trying."

"Are you done?"

The impatience in his voice made her look up. He held up two slips of paper, one with some strange scratches on it, the other with a sprawling hand spelling out god knew what in some language other than Basic. When he saw that her eyes had come back to his he threw her the smaller of their bags.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Brindar asked as she jogged behind him through the dim underground service area.

"I've got a name and a direction. I'm not sure if we're buying a space transport or passage on a shuttle. Residents were given the opportunity to buy tickets off-planet six months ago. They're sold out now-"

"Of course."

"Of course," he agreed. "But there's always black market. There are two sister planets plus all the moons of the terraformed planet. There are options. All we have to do is get away. Before an earthquake brought on by excessive blasting blows toxic fumes into the air we're trying to breathe."

"Is that all?"

One turned and lifted on lip in a sneer she found oddly reassuring. "Do Jedi learn how to dance?"

Rar was surprised enough to answer the question without thinking about it. She shook her head.

"I can make music. I'm musically inclined. I like instruments. I like singing. I've know the _Dha Werda_. But I've a hankering to learn to dance the way these people do. It's beautiful and seems very freeing."

Her smile warmed him. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because we're running out of time and I wanted you to know that I'm serious about making this happen. You get squeamish when people get dead."

"I don't mind death as part of the natural order. I won't kill something or someone simply so that I can live."  
"I will," he told her. "I've spent half my life already and I won't quibble to end somebody who gets in the way of the rest of it. I think killing to save yourself is the _only_ acceptable choice."

Brindar shook her head and closed her eyes and hoped it didn't come down to that.

They'd wound through bad neighborhoods into worse and had hit what had to be the worst possible when One led her through an alleyway. In an abandoned warehouse he picked a spot for each of them and reminded his erstwhile partner that anyone who wasn't him was the enemy.

"You shoot first and sort out gods from infidels later, do you understand me?" he asked.

"Where will you be?" she wanted to know.

_"Brindar_!" he growled. He jerked her chin toward the pile of slag he'd pointed out earlier. "There. I'll keep my profile to you to lessen the chances of you accidentally hitting me, too, if things go bad."

"Make sure they don't go bad, okay?" she asked.

He chucked her under the chin before checking the charge of a second blaster hidden in his boot. "I'm prepared to make an offer they can't refuse," he joked to himself. "We're getting out of here."

The deal went through smoothly enough that One got the impression this was an almost daily occurrence for the black market traders. Secure passage on one of the massive super transports. The berth would be fourth tier, one bump up from steerage, but that was fine. He'd mailed himself out of hell in a crate already. If they hadn't sent the galactic republic issued gear to the incinerator already he'd have been up for trying that again. Having room to stretch out completely would seem like luxury. If the four shared floor 'freshers the suite boasted worked it would be the equivalent of first class.

He was grinning as he ducked into the shadows and waited for Rar to join him.

"Well?"

"Well what?" he teased. She didn't joke during ops. He'd known that about her in the most abstract ways before the 66 Order came down. Now he knew it intimately. At her pained expression-although _she'd _pulled _his_ hair as she grimaced-he relented. "Ten days. We've a double aboard the Carsill Cruiser bound for Minha Reiy."

Relief flooded her and he watched the tension melt out of her body. "It was expensive?"

He nodded. "It was. I have the tickets in hand, though. We're to get id docs as well identifying us as extended-visit craftsmen. Husband and wife."

"And that'll cost more. Do we have enough?"

He nodded. "I'll find a game soon and get in. And you can bet there'll be games once we're underway. It's a twenty-seven-day trip on the transport. Minha Reiy is one of the planets they've repurposed since the mine started giving them troubles. It's basically a planet-wide company town. The local said that the owners have solicited humanitarians and artisans to try to create some sort of Utopia. The population is by and large mongrel with just enough humanoid and species variety to allow for aesthetic differentiation."

"He was selling you on the idea of the trip," she reminded him. "He'd say what he thought you wanted to hear."

"Eh. I asked him about a beach world where I could colonize my own island and live on fish and fruit for the rest of my life. He hemmed and hawed and finally admitted that he isn't a big enough player to get me those kinds of results. But what he _could_ do was get me to Minha Reiy and leave me his comm info and if I'd give him some time he'd make some calls up his chain of command and see what he could hook up. So the possibility exists that he's yanking my chain. But I'm confident in the probability that he sees me as a potential repeat customer. Especially since I also asked him about non-citizen purchases of munitions."

"He's working on that, too?" she guessed.

"Nope. Guy turned sheet white and started stuttering. They take a healthy dislike to violent death here. You get it from the gang you're born into or you live in fear. No middle ground."

"That's just disturbing," she frowned.

One shrugged and turned her around to walk out of the building. Out on the sidewalk he slung his arm around her shoulder and whistled a soft tune to himself. He was content with the business proceedings. He would have to hunt a bit harder to find a men's club or spirit dealer where he could jump into a game, but even if that took some time or wasn't particularly successful there was enough put back to accommodate the duration of their tenure. Once they were back at the hotel he would borrow Brindar's datapad to research the clan alliances in the hopes of making some discreet self-protection purchases before they were thrown on board a petri dish of humanity aboard the Carsill Cruiser.

As they crouched and waited for a band of toughs to pass Brindar realized that the continued wail she heard was an actual voice.

"Wait," she whispered when One crouched to move again.

"What?"

"What's that noise?" she asked.

He frowned but concentrated. "It's screaming."

Her eyes rolled. "It's a child."

"Yeah. He's screaming for his mother. She'll take care of it."

He rose again and she stopped him with a gentle tug on his sleeve. "She hasn't yet," she told him softly. Her eyes pled with him for indulgence. "I can sense fear and dying and despair."

One gestured to the neighborhood. The place was rot held together with dirt. It wasn't the sort of place that gave off happy, healthy vibes.

"Please. It'll only take a few minutes."

"He has a mother," One told her. "She's probably a stim-spice addict who would rather get her high than get his dinner. This is not a good place to go exploring."

She didn't say anything; she just continued to meet his stare.

"If we're dead we lose out on this deal. Just so you know."

Nothing.

"_Hustle_," he seethed as he got up and shot across the alley toward the noise. Up three flights of stairs and through a crawl-space he found himself in a permacrete parking deck that reverberated with the child's wails. "How the hell do people get up here?" he muttered as he caught his clothing on loose bars. He reached down to lift Brindar through rather than let her snag herself.

There was a low wall separating the space into coils for landing speeders and swoop bikes. Keeping a low profile the two sprinted toward the epicenter of the despair Brindar felt closing in around her.

"Oh, _shab_," One gasped.


	7. 7: Strengths and Weaknesses

He slammed to a halt so suddenly that Rar bumped into him. He forgot his hurry to ease along in the dimness. His eyes were better than hers. In the deep shadows she finally picked out a vista that would haunt her forever. Apparently the young woman had tried to make a home in this place. Two mattresses were laid next to each other and hung with tattered sheets. A core-box seemed to serve as both kitchen and entertainment center. Here a toddler sat with one fist near his mouth as he roared out his confusion and abandonment. A younger child was laying close to his mother, her fingertips smoothing over the child's arm as he cried more softly than his brother. What most disturbed the veteran warrior was the hugely protruding womb of the woman lying beside the far mattress.

"Ma'am?" he called quietly, checking all areas of egress as he approached. "Ma'am? Are you all right?"

A low whimper joined the howls and sobs and he knelt to hear the words she tried to put together. Brindar headed straight for the toddler, scooping him up to cradle him in her arms before reaching out to the younger child.

"She's nearly full term," she told One as he leaned close to the woman.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"My husband was a miner," the stranger gasped. "There was no place left for us to go."

Brindar reached out to clasp the woman's hand and took a moment to judge her life force. A wracking cough escaped her and even before Rar shook her head One knew that the outcome would not be good.

"When did your husband leave?" One asked her.

The answer was long in coming. Brindar wondered that each gasping breath wasn't the last. Her evaluation of the children proved them to be strong, if thin, and without any of the worrisome rattle or rail in their breathing that would herald a respiratory problem.

"He died. It's been months. We had nowhere to go."

"Shhh," One told her, combing back the sweaty bangs with his fingertips. "We're here. I'm going to help you up, then we'll find a doctor. We've got creds."

The woman shook and trembled as he eased his arm under her shoulders. The thinness of her seemed disproportionate given the size of her abdomen.

"One, wait," Brindar called. Even as the words escaped One felt the spasms begin. He could feel the life leaving the body in his arms even as Rar could, force or no force.

"_Shab_," he said again, quickly lowering her. He ducked his head, checking for breath and heartbeat. "_I don't_..._shab!_"

Rar lowered the toddler and gently sat the baby in his lap. "Hold your brother, all right?" she asked as the pitiful crying started up again.

She scooted closer to One and to the woman upon which he presently began chest compressions.

"Find me some towels or something. I need something clean from our gear. And my mini servo."

Brindar simply stared at him. "One," she murmured. "She's gone, cyar'ika. There's nothing you can do."

"Three minutes, Brindar," he growled as he continued compressions. "Three minutes until the oxygenated blood runs through and your brain begins to die."

"She's gone, sweet one. There is no more life energy in her?"

"_The baby, Brindar_. _The baby has three minutes_."

His eyes bore into hers and she spread her hands on the woman's womb to find the life force remaining inside. _Strong._

"_Damn it, One_," she warned him as she used the force to bring his pack and hers sailing into her lap. "Damn you."

"Take over compressions," he told her as she laid out what he'd requested. She left open their med kit and found the cleanest of the woman's linens. It seemed she'd taken too ill to care for herself quickly. A pile of laundry remained folded inside the weatherproof box.

"Look away," One warned as she moved into position to continue pumping the woman's heart. "And stop when I tell you."

She met his eyes and gathered the force to spread calm through all of them. And then she looked away.

It took him seventy seconds by her count before she heard the thin, lonesome mew of a newborn. He called her halt and shifted the stained and writhing beast onto the cloak she'd spread on the mattress before flipping a sheet over the child's mother. His hands were coated in the matter of birth and death and they shook as he reached out to sever the umbilical cord above the knot he'd tied.

"By all the forgotten gods of Mandalore, I won't be doing that again," he groaned. The filthy hands he held out to her seemed to beg for help.

"Let me get water," Brindar told him, reaching again into their packs for their own precious supply of store-bought.

"Use the tainted first," he warned her. "I've bathed in it already. It'll get the worst of it, then I'll use the other."

Brindar nodded and filled a basin with it. She handed him the soap she'd found in her quick inspection of their surroundings.

"It's getting to be late," she observed as she scrubbed at the now truly pissed newborn with soft towels.

"Yeah. But maybe this makes for a better sob story than yours even and we'll be able to gain something from it."

She grinned at him but her heart wasn't in it. It wasn't until he was shaking the excess moisture from his hands and she had rocked the infant into silence-having found soft swaddling clearly intended for the new arrival-that they spoke again. One reached toward her where she stood with tired, despairing eyes, and cupped her cheeks in both hands. They were cold from the water and her face felt warm. _Alive_.

"They'd have all died here if it weren't for you," he told her seriously.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I'm sorry for everything. For-"

His mouth upon hers silenced her efficiently. He had never kissed anyone. He wasn't sure how to impart what he was feeling. He just knew he had to. His kiss remained as innocent as hers had been. He ducked his forehead to her brow and swallowed back tears before he could speak.

"Thank you." When she simply stared up at him he explained. "I never had a mother. No one rocked me. No one held me. No one cared if I cried or why. We were grown in vats until we were old enough to start training. I learned to not cry because no one was listening."

His hands came down to cover the child in her arms. "I'd rather die here than let them suffer alone."

Brindar shifted her burden so that she could trace the shape of his jaw. "Let's see if we can't find a way out of this still," she told him. "I can see a lot of things, but I just don't see you letting go of all your big plans for lots of ready cred just to sit and breathe poisoned air."

A quick study had One repacking his own gear to make room for some of the things they found for the children. A few well-worn items of clothing, a small bag of infant supplies and meds, and a couple toys for the boy and his baby brothers.

"We need a bigger bag now," One told Rar as he helped her fashion a sling for the newborn.

"We need some formula and more swaddling," she countered.

He nodded. "I'll get it. Let's just get out of here."

Getting out of there was one experiment in the usefulness of kidnapping a Jedi from a marauding emperor. She simply gauged the distance from the window to the ground and stepped out into the near-total darkness with one child on her hip and the other wrapped securely in a makeshift sling across her body. One shook his head lowered himself using the liquid cable he'd reserved from his survival pack.

Rar hissed as the newborn whimpered pitifully. "There's nothing for him to survive on, One. He's so tiny now-in a few hours he'll get over the trauma of being born and need sustenance."

The man's lips flattened as he shook his head. He could see the beginnings of flame flicker in the window they'd just used as an exit. The timer he'd set had done its job. There would be a funeral pyre to mark the woman's passing.

"If you can order me boots, formula shouldn't be that big a stretch. There's no shortage of goods yet-just poultry by-products."


	8. 8: Next in Line

The contact's subcontractor wasn't pleased when they met up with him as planned. They needed the imagery done for the false travel documents and he'd been told to expect two adults. Now he had the possibility of screaming children to contend with.

"I don't like this, Mister," he told One plainly enough.

"Tough. I'm starting to not like it myself. Surely if you can run an op there are others who will take my c-"

"I'll take your creds, old man. I'm just going to have to find a way around the original plan."

He waved at the thinner man in the room and stalked away toward a large desk-bound data-processor while his assistant took care of their fingerprints and the other details of a good forgery. When the scam's director sauntered back over toward them his expression was no less displeased.

"I can't get you a bigger room. No cribs. No cots. Make it work, Daddio," the thug complained. He thumbed through the file of flimsies from which he operated.

"Maybe third, that's it. Thirds come with meal tickets in the dining room. I got a third that's a double."

The original seller complained bitterly. "You didn't tell me kids. When we talked you said you needed docs for you and your woman. You said you needed a double room. You didn't tell me a family. It'll be more this way..."  
"Dingbat," One growled. "What kind of man needs a double room for himself and his wife when they're trying to get off planet?"

"Okay, okay," the younger man insisted. His hands came up as though to fan down One's anger. Brindar was hugely impressed. There seemed nothing One couldn't do. And certainly nothing he couldn't lie his way out of.

"We'll take the double you're offering in third class," she said softly, reaching out to touch the man's arm. "And we'll gladly accept the vouchers that come with it for the meal service. Surely the price is negotiable since there's been such a misunderstanding?"

"Four thou, lady," the man said with kind eyes resting on her tired face. "Final offer."

One took the offer. As they joined the shifting, pulsing mass at the terminal it seemed an awful lot of trouble. There had been some sort of ultraviolet swab packet as part of the travel vouchers and instructions had led them to break the tiny canister at one end and liberally coat the inside of their wrists with the substance. One had wondered what the hell it was for until they'd gotten closer.

It kept the teeming masses from getting into the boarding side of the fence and throwing their ticket books back over to the desperate being sorted from the departing.

He reached out to clutch his oldest "son" even more tightly and to brush a fingertip over Rar's cheek. She was even paler than her norm and her eyes darted to and fro in panic.

"Troopers," she hissed under her breath.

"I see them. Let's see if this works before we make a big deal about it."

He pulled a large case with most of their belongings and each of them wore a slingpack stuffed with more. Babies, it turned out, required a good bit of merchandise. Where two adults could scrimp and deal the youngsters had needs that couldn't be belayed. Plus he'd found a holobook full of information intended for first-time parents.

Well, it was their first time being parents...even if neither of them had any children of their own.

"Papers," the storm trooper at the gate grunted. One produced the thickly bound folder of id docs for himself and Rar and the travel passes they'd purchased.

"Third. Follow the green tiles."

One hissed at him and gestured impatiently at the crowd in the terminal proper. The flooring could have been any color, any substance and no one would ever be able to report it.

"Up the first ramp and to the left, wise guy," the storm trooper shot back. Even behind his faceplate Rar knew the minute he truly looked at One. His hand hesitated over the document in his hand and his helmet shifted to take in the whole group of them. "Got a whole little brood going, don't you?"

One shrugged. "Gotta do something in cold weather. Hatching beats fishing."

The trooper's shoulders eased back and he rubbed a gloved hand over Ince's inky black hair. "Be careful. And good luck."

"Thanks. Not to worry. Drafters are supposed to be in high demand where we're going. We'll pick up more work quick enough."

Their berth was very much what Brindar had expected. As a jedi she'd travelled often aboard supercruisers and knew that the societies aboard such were very much segregated. With their simple way of life, jedi usually took the more meager offerings unless accompanying a diplomat for some reason.

One was still getting used to so much textile, so little plasteel. And the stains and dust motes of the non-military lower class offended him still.

"Sweet lords," he complained as they shifted children and gear from the bustling egress into the cramped room. The beds were long, but narrow. The room boasted a waist-high piece of furniture with plenty of drawer space to stow their things as well as a closet lined with sliding doors made of reflective plasteel. A tiny vidscreen from a previous generation sat atop the storage unit. Brindar collapsed into the only chair in the room—a miserable thing just two squares of hard plasteel mounted on legs.

"Hunh," she grunted wonderingly. He looked at her, expecting her dismay to match his disgust. Instead her lips lifted in a half-smile.

When she met his gaze her brows rose.

"We get our own 'fresher," she told him, nodding to the other doorway in the room.

One rolled his eyes at Ince as he put him down on one of the beds. Then he stalked the eight or ten feet toward his "wife" to peer into the darkened room.

"We should have bought more disinfectant," he muttered, thinking about laying the children down on these obviously old and much-used mattresses. "There's no room for-"

He cut short his own complaint about lack of play-space for the two older boys. Rar couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up at his consternation when repeatedly hitting the switch for the light in the refresher garnered absolutely nothing. He worked his jaw back and forth, trying to calm himself. Lights went out and had to be replaced. Or maybe it was the switch. Or faulty wiring. Or-

"Probably the water source is so tainted down here they don't want you to be able to see the rust in it," he griped.

She smiled up at him, the baby—Cho—asleep in his sling across her chest as she bounced his brother—Amii—on her knee. Her expression was not one of absolute disgust. She was wired, he could see it from here, and she was weary. But when he turned back to her what he saw was mostly content.

"Are you pleased?" he asked incredulously.

Now the smile broadened and she shrugged. "I feel alive as I never did in my former life. I feel life in me, life around me. And hope, One. _Hope_. I look _forward_ to these next weeks. We've nowhere to go, nothing to do. No worry, no fear, no recriminations. The only ones to judge me are you and these boys. I will not be found wanting."

He smiled back at her. Freedom was something she'd struggled with more than he. Unless her time was being occupied she fretted about what they were to do and if everything would work out. She'd apologized when children woke him during the night despite his assurance that they were his responsibility and that their care and comfort was his joy. The likelihood of their escape undetected had terrified her. And she genuinely felt anger toward the mining company that had destroyed this world and threatened the population. The fact that they'd secured an escape route for those same people she discounted completely. She'd always be what she was raised.

"I used to think jedi were cool and distant," he teased as he lowered himself to one knee before her. He reached out to tickle Amii, garnering a laugh from the happy child.

"I wasn't very good at that."

"Praises," he muttered.

"Was I a bad jedi? A bad general?"

He paused to consider this. She appreciated the pensive look that came over his face rather than vague dismissal and reassurance.

"I don't think I knew better. There were some great minds among you. Strategists and tacticians. But genuinely good? There were less of those. I never minded you."

"Damned by faint praise," she laughed.

One got up and dug into the slingpack she'd worn for a cup of juice for both boys. He bent to retrieve Amii and gently settled him on the spare bed before regarding the space around him.

"This place is going to take a lot of work if it's to be home for the next month."


	9. Epilogue

"It's all right, vode," the voice said. "Come on out, you don't have to be alone..."

"He's not alone now," another voice cut in. A feminine voice.

And, as he turned, he realized it was a feminine voice with a blaster.

Ordo's jaw reset itself. Mereel could barely restrain the urge to roll his eyes. And Jusik's response only exacerbated those reactions.

"Sister. Be at peace, you have nothing to fear from us."

One snorted out a laugh as Rar let her head fall back and grinned that grin he'd come to love so much.

"I'm not your sister, jedi. And I am not afraid."

"That's my girl," the renegade clone smirked. He showed two empty hands to the plain-clothes trooper closest to him in a false display of innocence. Then all hell broke loose as he quickly slugged the other man while ripping the blaster out of his hands. He smashed the butt of the gun into his face with a snarl.

"Come into my home, will you?" he grunted as he turned the weapon on the remaining two. Rar had already stuck the muzzle of her own side arm in the jedi's face and had pulled her holdout blaster on the clone's partner. "Answers, please," he demanded.

Ordo glanced at Mereel, lying prone on the ground.

"Please," One groaned. "He's not dead. Yet. He's out cold. Tell me why we're all still standing here or I'll fix that."

Jusik gestured to Ordo and sent soothing waves of calm over the force connection.

"I am calm," Rar suggested. "One's pretty calm. I guess. Especially considering that he was minding his own business and we have small children napping upstairs."

"You have children?" Jusik asked.

"I do," she said in her most patient tones. "And you're lucky, you and your _brothers_, that his protective instinct was outweighed by his curiosity. Else you'd have all been dead the moment you set foot on our property."

"I hadn't heard that you left the order."

She shook her head. "No, indeed. For you left long before I did. I would guess that the Empire records my death on the night Order 66 was issued. Least, it was night where we were. Now, an answer for my husband. Why have you come here and what are you doing in our home?"

One shook his head at Ordo. "This one's Sergeant Skirata's pet. Which probably makes the napping clone one of his Nulls."

"You're calling yourself _One_?" Ordo asked.

One mocked a half-bow. "CT-zero-zero-zero-one, at your service. Jango's best and brightest, no further mutation necessary, thank you."

"He's Ulohu One now," Rar corrected.

"How did you end up here?" Jusik asked.

"Transport," Rar shot back. Her arms were beginning to tire. And she was wary of this game with no good end.

"How did you find me?" One asked.

"We were looking for someone else. A scientist who specializes in genetic mutation. There were records of research on decelerating aging and Jaing tracked another worm in the good doctor's system."

Rar clicked her cheek. "That would be it, then. And did you ascertain that Dr. Havina is a quack?"

"We did. But we also keep check on who else is interested in the data we want. Just in case. We tracked it back to you."

"And recognized One?"

Ordo shrugged. "I walked past him twice. Without realizing that I was looking at another clone. He's out of context as we thought we sought a servant of the Emperor. It was Fi who caught the resemblance when he reviewed footage of our surveillance." He turned to the clone. "Our father, Kal Skirata, is compiling everything about anti-aging he can get his hands on. We'll get you your lifespan back, vode."

One lifted one lip. "I have a life I'm happy with, actually. There's another doctor here-an herbologist. She thinks I have a rare genetic mutation. She has no clue it was purposefully embedded in my DNA. She's treating me with various supplements and inhibitors. Works wonders. I actually feel full after a meal-and stay that way for hours and hours. That alone is worth my cred."

Rar smiled at him. He met her eye and winked.

"So...questions answered, what now?" His foot came down on Mereel's neck as the other man started to groan and writhe where he lay.

"Home to Mandalore for us," Jusik responded. "Although I'd love to have the herbalist's information."

One shook his head. "You'll not remove me from yet another home. It's been a long road to get here. The good doctor's competent and kind, but backwards in the use of tech. No records, no 'pad. Just her greenhouse and small lab. She stays here with me. And just in case it's hereditary-"

"It's not," Ordo told him. "It isn't passed to the next generation."

Mereel was watching the man's face from his vantage place on the floor. He felt the tremor in the other's body and saw the relief flood over his expression. Jusik, too, felt the waves of shock and joy and comfort in the force from both beings.

"Brindar, my love," One said thickly.

She smiled at him. "I told you," she whispered. "I told you it would be fine. Babies are miracles. Always."

He nodded, then stepped back to free the man beneath his boot. "_Go_," he whispered. "Good luck, but _go_. I have a life here. A good one. A family. Friends. A job I enjoy. I won't go back. And I'm not adverse to killing to get my way."

"If you need us-" Jusik began.

Rar shook her head. "You misunderstand, Master. This is our decision. This world, this life. If we only have a few years together we'll spend it as we would."

A small sound came from above. Jusik glanced up as a toddler came to the top of the stairs.

"Da? Mama?"

Rar smiled up at a sleepy {}, clad only in shorts and an undershirt. She felt the child within her move and realized how perfect was her life.

"I'll be right up, Ika," One called. "Let me say goodbye to Mama's friends."

Jusik swallowed harshly. "Your son, he has no force echoes?"  
Rar shook her head. "It is a great relief to me to know that no one will hunt my children based on their midichlorian counts. Jedi, it seems, cannot be bred. And grateful I am for the line to die out in me. My children are Ones, natives of [] who emigrated here with the rest of the population. That is all and that is enough. We are content."

"I'm tired of sleeping," the voice whined from above.

Brindar rolled her eyes, but One smiled indulgently. "Have you these _brothers_ in hand, my love?" he asked her. Brindar nodded and he turned, nodding curtly, before jogging up the stairs. His deep, rolling voice came down full of love and contentment and the little boy's giggle was a balm to the souls of those who watched.

"He is happy," Jusik noted.

"We all are."

"What will you do now?"

"What we've done for a long time. Keep ourselves and our family and prepare for the future. _Live_, Bardan Jusick. We'll _live_. The jedi were wrong, although I doubt that the emperor had the truth in what happened that night. But attachment does not lessen one's abilities. It simply makes all those moments worthwhile."

Ordo reached out a hand beseechingly. "I have a wife. We'd like children. I have brothers who already have them. My father watches us age and it hurts him—badly. I'd very much like to be able to find a cure or a deterrent at least. The world owes us that much."

"The world owes you nothing, clone. I am _grateful_ to the masterminds who foresaw a need for an army and thus shaped one to their liking. Else I would still be on my own, alone and separate, part of an ancient culture who bred children to detachment. My life's desire is to spend every moment I have with One, soaking up his essence. Our children are young. And the healer's medicine will hopefully keep him around long enough for them to develop full memories of him. I want him to hold a grandchild someday and rock the next generation to sleep, even as he rocks his own children. But every moment of our lives is a gift from the same evil that destroyed the temple. How can I ask him to regret that? How can I curse the fates that came together to bring us here?"

Ordo's face showed his inner turmoil.

"Peace, sister," Jusik said again. "We'll leave you. But I beg this, do you have listings of what herbs and treatments this healer uses on your husband? That we may take the information back to our own scientists and share the knowledge. Even just slowing their metabolism so that they enjoy meals for taste and texture and time together would change their lives significantly."

Rar's lips pulled into a flat line. She visibly considered the request before nodding once and moving to a doorway nearby. There she scanned a series of jars and pots with her 'pad before gesturing to the former jedi. He gave her his contact and she transmitted the data.

"If you need anything-"

"We won't."

"But if you do," he insisted.

She smiled. "I have your numbers. If she makes a breakthrough I'll let you know. Otherwise leave us alone. Please."

Mereel nodded and extended his hand. "Thank you. Tell One thank you."  
"Fine," she agreed. Her grip was cool and calm. Remote.


End file.
